Sheikhs: Rich, powerful desert kings and the women who bring them to their knees...

by Clare Connelly

  “Because I expected her to live by the rules.”

  “By your rules,” Miranda queried quietly.

  “Yes.”

  “And she isn’t?”

  He frowned. “She does not speak to me. She somehow manages to evade her security detail frequently. She acts like a commoner when she is not. She is taking it too far. Even cutting her off from her bank account has not hastened her return. I do not know how she lives, and how she hides, but I have had enough of it.”

  Miranda thought of the old service entrance to Steph’s building, that she used with great success to escape undetected. It was particularly brilliant because it opened onto a laneway behind her building, and a tube entrance was just around the corner. As for the bank account, Miranda had seen first hand how hard it was for Steph and Tom to make ends meet, but it was a sign of their love that they did manage. Particularly when Steph had been used to every creature comfort in the world.

  “You are Sheikh of Fasiya. Why do you not just fly over and confront her?” Miranda couldn’t believe she’d suggested it. It was the very last thing Steph would want. In fact, it would be an unmitigated disaster.

  “I could do that. I could even force her to return to Fasiya by revoking her passport. I would have my sister back in the palace, but I would lose her forever.”

  Miranda’s heart squeezed at his assessment of the situation. The bleak pain in his words made her ache to comfort him. She ran her fingers down his side, and captured his hand in hers. She lifted it to her lips and pressed a kiss to his palm. He closed his fingers over it, as if trying to hold onto the gesture.

  “So you want her to come back of her own choice?”

  “Yes,” he said simply.

  Miranda knew how unlikely that was. Her child would be a British citizen. Tom was another stumbling block, for Mastepha loved him fiercely.

  “Actions committed under duress are never meaningful,” he said, more for his own benefit than hers. It was the first time the parallels of his situation with Miranda had hit him. She had not chosen this. Not really. The attraction had been out of her hands, but in her own country, with freedom before her, she would never have fallen into his bed. Not as quickly as she did. In her own country, she would have expected dinner. Romance. Discussion. Seduction.

  He closed his eyes against the unusual feeling of shame that besieged him.

  “You seem so certain that I have something to do with your sister. Why?”

  Radiz shifted a little, twisting his body so that he was propped on his side, facing her. “It is an instinct. And I always trust my instincts.”

  Miranda lowered her gaze. He was so beautiful. His eyes so intense and flecked with magical secrets. She shook her head.

  “Tell me, Miranda, please. I need to know the truth.”

  Her heart broke for his obvious pain, but she was bound by a loyalty formed earlier to Steph. A promise she’d made her best friend, before she had met Radiz. “I had my own reasons for coming to Fasiya.” It was a vaguely true statement. She could have laughed now, at her desire to put some spice in her life.

  “And for breaking into my sister’s home?”

  Miranda closed her eyes and shook her head. “Radiz…”

  He lifted a finger to her lips. “Fine. It’s a secret you want to keep.” He sighed heavily. “I will respect your need to be silent on this matter. But first, I need to hear you say the words.”

  “What words?” She whispered against his finger, her eyes earnest on his.

  “Do you promise me, Miranda, on the soul of your mother, that you know nothing about my sister?”

  Miranda’s heart ached. “I would never promise on my mother’s soul,” she said thickly. “Do you think your sister is a good person? Capable of making good decisions?”

  Radiz scanned her face thoughtfully. “She is a good person.”

  “Then why can’t you just trust that she is living her life. Why must you know? Why must you control her?”

  “Control her?” He demanded, surprised by the accusation.

  Miranda could have sworn. It was something Steph had said often, but Miranda had no reason to believe it to be true. “I just mean… that you seem unable to accept her choice – to live her life and be away from you.”

  “I have given Mastepha more freedom than I ever had. I have given her the life I would have lived, were it not for my birth right.”

  Curiosity flared inside Miranda. “You would not have chosen to be Sheikh?”

  “Choice is irrelevant, for me. I have known, from as early as I could walk and talk, that this life is my destiny. I never questioned it, nor sought an alternative.”

  “But you said you gave your sister the life you would have chosen…”

  “Yes. Both she and my cousin Sam have travelled. They’ve lived. Without the strictures of the palace at their heels.”

  “You make it sound so constricting. Can you really not understand why Steph would want to get away from that?”

  “Steph?” He asked coldly, shifting again, to put some space between them.

  Miranda winced. “I just find her full name hard to say,” she covered poorly.

  Radiz wanted to believe her. He wanted to believe that the woman his body was craving would not keep such a vital secret from him. “Do you promise me on your honour, Miranda, that you know nothing of my sister? I could forgive many things, but not this. Not this lie.”

  She felt like she was about to cross an electric fence; one that would be impossible to pass back through. But what choice did she have? She could not tell him the truth. Steph would never forgive her. Her pregnancy had been difficult enough without adding a furious brother into the equation. Not to mention the possibility that he might do as he’d threatened and revoke Steph’s passport.

  She couldn’t say the words out loud. But she met his eyes, and she nodded, and she felt a small part of her die as she did so. For it was the end of any hope for them. Not that there’d been a chance of a future, anyway, but now, it was guaranteed impossible.

  Chapter Six

  Thelma, I can’t believe another week has passed. What can I say? She lifted her fingers and stared across at the sleeping figure of Radiz. It was the first time he’d fallen asleep in her bed. The first time he’d stayed longer than a perfunctory two minutes after they’d slept together. He was fast asleep and Miranda, conversely, was wide-awake. Her body was thrumming, as though it were alive with a thousand flames. She was excited and jumpy, and completely alert.

  How had a week passed? A week from that night in the hammock, when she’d lied about knowing Mastepha. A week in which she’d seen enough of Radiz to know that her feelings for him went way beyond the physical.

  How could she not love him? He was unlike any man she had ever met. He was pure power and confidence, beauty and strength. She craved him when he was absent, and she devoured him when she was with him. The certainty of her departure hung like a noose around her neck. Loose still, but growing tighter with every night that passed.

  I love it here.

  She shifted her view to the window. A light breeze blew warm through the open window, lifting the transparent curtain a hint. She lifted her face to catch the freshness and inhaled the scent of lemon blossom and jasmine on the sultry night air. That bird, the beautiful bird of the night, whistled to the moon, and Miranda sighed.

  I know you will disagree, but as I sit here typing to you, I’m not sure I ever want to be anywhere else. Do you remember the last few lines of The Story of Priya? She closed her eyes to bring them to mind, and then began to type. The sand tore across the undulating lines of the desert, rolling and gathering with it the momentum of men. The honeysuckles turned their orange faces to worship at her feet, and the birds sang in welcome. Priya was home, and the whole world rejoiced. She sighed at the beauty of the words, and the imagery they evoked. I love the desert, and the warmth. The smell of the flowers and the blossoms, and the history. I promise I’ll come back soon, Thelma, but f
or now, please rest assured that I am having fun. I miss you, of course. Please write with your news, but as always, keep it light… Love, Mirry.

  She pressed send and laid the iPad down beside her, then pulled her knees to her chest. Radiz was so beautiful in sleep, she could have watched him all night. He had one arm thrown above his head, the other spread wide across the bed, and his legs were kicked out. He slept like someone who was used to sleeping alone, she thought with a small smile. The bed was King size, but it perfectly fit a King.

  Taking great care to stay quiet, she stood, and tiptoed across the room in search of her robe. Radiz had given it to her on the third day of that week, and Miranda had been ridiculously pleased. As if recognising that she didn’t want to prance around in glamorous lingerie all day was truly so remarkable.

  She shook her head with a rueful smile as she pulled it on and belted it around her middle. With Radiz asleep, it would be the first time Miranda had left her room without him. She looked back at his sleeping frame once more and then pulled the door inwards. She felt guilty. An actual wave of worry that someone might find her leaving the bedroom and think that she was escaping.

  But there were no guards around. That made her frown, for she was certain they were usually stationed outside her room. She padded down the hallway, and back to the Fabida courtyard. It had become one of her favourite places to lie and stare at the sky.

  She climbed into the hammock and gave it a kick with her foot, so that it swung gently from side to side.

  “Well, I don’t believe it. You must be the mystery prisoner.”

  She squawked and would have tipped out of the hammock if the man hadn’t grabbed the rope top and held it tight. Instinctively, her hands flew to the collar of her robe and she cinched it together. “You scared me to death!” She said indignantly, sitting up and pushing her hair out of her face.

  “I apologise. That wasn’t my intention.”

  She scowled, inexplicably annoyed at having her private time invaded. But curiosity overtook any other emotion as she gave this man her full attention. He was not a servant, that much was obvious. He wore robes similar to Radiz’s, though perhaps a little less grand. His lacked the gold thread embellishing that adorned each of Radiz’s. “I’m Miranda,” she said, lifting her eyes to his mahogany hair and caramel eyes.

  “Samir Al-Mawani.” He extended a hand, and when Miranda placed hers in it, he lifted it to his lips. The gesture made her uncomfortable and she pulled her fingers away as though she’d been burned.

  “Sam?” She asked, clasping her hands in her lap.

  “That’s what His Highness calls me, yes.”

  His Highness. Miranda flushed; she had only ever called him Radiz. “You’re Radiz’s cousin.”

  “Yes,” he agreed with an easy smile.

  “Well, Sam, what are you doing here in the middle of the night?”

  “I could ask you the same thing,” he pointed out, reclining indolently against the tree trunk the hammock was fastened to.

  “I couldn’t sleep,” she said with a shrug.

  “The birds?” He asked, looking into the distance. “They’re a nuisance at this time of year. It’s their mating call, and it goes all night.”

  “I love it,” she disagreed with a happy sigh. “It’s so musical.”

  “Yes, I suppose so. But it is also loud, no?”

  She laughed. “Yeah.” She turned her attention back to Radiz’s cousin. “You studied abroad didn’t you?”

  “In London.”

  “It’s so different to here. So crowded and cold.”

  “I liked it,” he shrugged. “I liked the formality.”

  Miranda nodded. “I was just thinking that Fasiya is, perhaps, the most beautiful place on earth.”

  Sam narrowed his eyes and regarded her thoughtfully. “I am interested to hear you say so, when you are effectively a prisoner here.”

  Her heart turned over. “Oh.” She bit down on her lower lip. “That doesn’t change my perspective.”

  “Doesn’t it? Would you not feel differently if you thought you could never leave? That those birds would be your eternal soundtrack?”

  She shivered involuntarily. “The idea of not having any choice, ever again, would fill anyone with fear,” she pointed out logically. “I do not think that will be the case for me.”

  Her confidence hinted at a deeper understanding of Radiz and her situation than he possessed. Sam was not going to get involved. Though he felt bound by his loyalty to Radiz to return her to her confines. “I should escort you back to your room.”

  “No, I’m fine,” she demurred strongly.

  “I’m sorry, Miranda, but I consider it my duty to His Highness to be sure his prisoner is not left wandering the halls. I know he has you guarded around the clock. He would be seriously displeased to know that you had slipped away from the guards.”

  She stepped out of the hammock, her expression clearly irritated. “I did not ‘slip away’ from the guards. Nothing so nefarious! I opened the door to my room and they weren’t there. It’s a beautiful night and I like it here. I didn’t think Radiz would mind.”

  “I will ask him tomorrow. But for now, Miranda, please allow me to show you to your room.”

  Miranda wanted to demur, but the kernel of worry in the back of her mind would not be silenced. What if she had done something wrong? What if she had done something that would draw attention to the fact she and Radiz were sleeping together?

  Samir took her indecision as acceptance and began to move back into the palace. He paused at the door, waiting for her to follow, and she did. She was afraid now. Afraid that she had erred to leave her bedroom without Radiz. He had been allowing her more and more freedom in the past week, but it had always been with him. To have walked away on her own – what if he woke and found her gone, and presumed she’d attempted to escape? For real?

  Her heart was pounding by the time they reached her room. The door was still unguarded. She shot Samir a pointed look and paused by the door.

  “Thank you for escorting me back. I think you’ll find I did nothing wrong.”

  “I’m sure you’re right,” he responded politely. “I’m sorry if you feel that I infringed on your liberty by bringing you back. Radiz is my cousin and friend, and I act with his best interests at heart.”

  How could Miranda fault him for that? “I understand,” she said with a small smile. “Good night.” She lifted a hand to the door and was about to push it when it opened of its own accord.

  At least, it appeared to. In fact, Radiz had pulled it inwards and was standing, in only a pair of black boxer shorts, staring out at them.

  Samir bowed deferentially, and when he looked at Miranda it was with extreme frustration. “I apologise, Rad. I misunderstood the nature of your relationship.”

  Radiz looked from Samir to Miranda, dressed in only a silky robe, and felt his blood pressure go through the roof. “What exactly is going on here?”

  Miranda, aware that Radiz was all-powerful in Fasiya, still felt no fear. “I went to the courtyard. I couldn’t sleep.”

  Radiz narrowed his eyes, and scanned her face in a way that sent her pulse skittering.

  “I was there. By complete coincidence,” Samir clarified. “I didn’t think it wise to leave your prisoner to her own devices. As I said, I misunderstood the relationship, and I apologise.”

  “Miranda, go inside,” Radiz said, his tone clipped.

  “Huh?”

  “Inside.” He turned his stormy eyes on her, his expression impossible to read.

  “Fine,” she said with obvious bad-humour, and flounced past him.

  He watched her go, then turned his attention back to Samir.

  “I know I do not need to ask for your discretion,” Radiz quietly commanded his cousin.

  “Of course not, Rad. But I’m a little offended you didn’t tell me you’re sleeping with her.”

  “You had no need to know, Samir.”

  “What’
s going on? You know she is facing serious charges. What is your plan?”

  “I have no plan,” Radiz responded firmly. “And the charges will be pressed only at my instigation. This is a private matter.”

  Sam compressed his lips. His interference was obviously unwanted. “The guards?”

  “Not required when I am… visiting,” he responded gruffly.

  When Radiz slipped inside the bedroom suite a few moments later, Miranda was pacing the room.

  “You don’t get to dismiss me like that,” she snapped, her beautiful blue eyes glittering fiercely in her face.

  “I beg your pardon, Miranda, but you are still my prisoner. I will dismiss you if I feel it is necessary.”

  She gaped, her mouth opening and closing as she tried to fathom what he had said. “Your prisoner.” She closed her eyes and dug her fingers into her palms. “Silly me. I thought we were passed that.”

  “Did you?” He stalked with panther-like intensity to where she was treading holes in the carpet.

  “Obviously I was wrong.”

  He felt his frustration increase. It was as though he was chained up, his hands pressed to his side, when he wanted to reach for her. His wants and needs were impossible to feel, let alone express. Frustration made him snap with a sarcastic anger. “What did you think, Miranda? That we’re falling in love? That we’re going to forget that you’re a thief, and I’m going to go down on one knee and propose to you or something?” His tone was laced with such scathing irony that she flinched. “Just because we are good together in bed, you think I’m going to want more from you than this? It’s sex, Miranda. SEX.”

  Nausea clawed at her stomach and she swallowed the burning sensation back from her mouth. She would not let him see how his words had made her reel. She felt as though she were flying across the room though. She had actually thought they were connecting on a level other than the purely physical. She shivered, as his words kept repeating over and over in her mind.

  What an idiot she was to have fallen in love with him. She was shaking all over now, from shock and hurt, but she concealed it well.